


Inopportune

by kerlin



Category: Alias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-31
Updated: 2010-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:10:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerlin/pseuds/kerlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You should go home."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inopportune

**Author's Note:**

> written as an AU of a deleted scene from the episode "Hourglass"

"You should go home."

"Yeah."

It was stating the obvious, they both knew that, but stating the obvious kept them from dealing in subtleties. It kept them from could-have-beens and would-have-beens and should-have-beens that could swallow them whole if they weren't careful.

Vaughn wasn't moving, and the part of Sydney's brain that had been fine-tuned by years of psychological manipulation, starting at age six and masterfully controlled since then, began to set off urgent silent alarms. It was the same alarm that went off just before Dixon's voice came over the comms. "You've been made, Syd, get out of there, get out of there now…"

Layers of tension constricted around her chest, and she had the brief thought that maybe stretching upward would loosen them, would allow her to breathe again – so close, he was too close, they were too close to something that they would both regret later. They both had so many regrets already, surely this one would be the straw that finally snapped that poor camel's spine like so much dry kindling.

Unconsciously, they were breathing in time, harsh gasping breaths that served only the bare minimum of oxygen requirements. Sydney seized on that as the reason why she was suddenly light-headed, pins and needles in the tips of her fingers, vision blackening and narrowing and blending into the poor lighting of her apartment.

Something shifted, possibly the room tilted or folded, because she hadn't moved and he hadn't moved but the space between them was gone.

Because he was kissing her, his lips bruising hers, and the space between her back and the wall disappeared as she slammed up against it. Equal parts teeth and lips and tongue, push and pull, drowning in him but with no desire, no need, to come up for air.

In Korea their movements had been constrained by handcuffs. Now there was nothing but good sense to hold them back, and that wasn't something Sydney had counted on for restraint for some time now. Not when it came to Vaughn, and not when he had abandoned her mouth in favor of her neck, tonguing her pulse point. He tested the fluttering there as if it served as proof of the tingling throughout her entire body, evidence of her heart trying to catch up with the lack of oxygen from his kiss.

Having her lips free meant that she regained some small measure of sanity – not enough to stop him, she'd never had enough for that, would've given in to him long ago if only she hadn't still been trying to convince herself she was the same person who had died in the fire – and she threaded her fingers through his hair, holding on tightly, pulling too hard, probably. Not caring, because he was here with her, and she was alive, and he was proving it, branding her throat on his way down.

His hands were moving faster than she could keep track of, now helping to press her against the wall, now dragging her hips into line with his, now rough against the softer skin of her stomach as he pushed the hem of her shirt up. Then there was space between their bodies, between his lips and the hollow of her throat, and she whimpered deep in her throat even as Vaughn yanked her shirt up, catching it roughly on her chin and popping one button off.

That didn't even slow him down, and Sydney shivered slightly as the cool air met her exposed skin, and then she arched to meet the warmth of his mouth as he knelt to the floor and used his lips-tongue-teeth on the skin just below her belly button. She tried to return her hands to his hair and realized that her arms were still caught up in the sleeves of her shirt and twisted behind her back, no way out without his help and he was far too engrossed in tracing her ribs with his tongue to be inclined to free her.

He nipped – she wasn't quite sure where, exactly, somewhere along the bottom of her rib cage, but wherever it was, it seemed to shoot straight to the involuntary reaction portion of her brain and back down to her knees, which gave out without warning.

Vaughn caught her (didn't he always? no – thinking would get them nothing but trouble right now), a strong forearm balancing in the small of her back. The sudden movement meant the sleeves trapping her arms slipped down enough so that she could wriggle out of them on her own and she did so as quickly as possible, hard-pressed to lay claim to any manual dexterity when Vaughn was sliding her down his body so that they knelt facing each other, his lips marking every inch of the slow journey.

Soon, but not soon enough, Sydney freed her arms fully and immediately equalized the situation by pushing his jacket back over his shoulders, loosening his tie, attacking the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers. Sometime in the midst of it he kissed her again, or she kissed him; whoever started it, neither wanted to end it, and their breathing soon grew raspy and shallow.

She pulled away long enough to pull his undershirt over his head, stretching the fabric so badly that he probably wouldn't be able to wear it again. He thought faster than she did and put his arms up so that the short sleeves slid right off instead of trapping him, her Boy Scout, always prepared, so she resolved to take him by surprise – and did when she simultaneously licked the salty, sweaty skin at the base of his throat and slid her hands down his chest, down across his flat stomach, and down behind the waistband of his suit pants, cupping him through his boxers.

Under her mouth he made a rattling sound in the back of his throat, a strange hybrid of choke and groan, and under her hands he jerked toward her in a spasmodic motion, involuntary and primal. Knowing that she could still produce that response was heady, but it also meant remembering the past, and the present, and contemplating avenues for the future – none of which were encouraging at the moment.

She hesitated briefly, and then Vaughn fisted his hands in her hair, dragging her back up to kiss him. This time when she flexed her hands against him she swallowed his moan and curved her grin against his mouth, and the tone changed from something frenzied and violent to a (slightly) more leisurely, playful exploration.

The doorbell rang.

They both froze – Vaughn in the midst of unclasping her bra, Sydney with her fingers on the button of his fly.

"Hey, Syd? Listen, I hate to be the most cliché neighbor on the face of the planet, but, um, I really need to borrow a cup of sugar."

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me," Vaughn hissed between ragged breaths.

Of the two of them, she seemed to be the one who returned to common sense first, and when it arrived, there was no good news. Her shirt and Vaughn's jacket, shirt, and tie, were on the floor of her entryway, she had her hand down his pants, his was about to rid her of her bra. They had grappled with each other like teenagers in a parking lot, little to no finesse and even less maturity.

And Vaughn was married, and she didn't remember two years of her life.

The cool air of her apartment raised goosebumps on her exposed skin, and she pulled back from Vaughn, turning her face away, and found her shirt on the floor. Her back to Vaughn, she pulled the stretched fabric back over her head, tugging on the hem to settle it, fingering the stray threads that had held a button on just a few minutes earlier.

When she turned back, Vaughn was tucking in his shirt and he looked up at her briefly, a hooded expression in his eyes. She remembered that look all too well: Vaughn the self-righteous was letting guilt run roughshod over his conscience.

This time, she wasn't so inclined to relieve him of the burden, because as much as she might want Lauren to be the Covenant mole, they had no proof, and she was still Vaughn's wife. And it still wouldn't justify what they had been about to do.

"It just happened," she said quietly as he slid his arms into his suit jacket and tightened his tie. She tried to communicate with her eyes: it just happened, we were both to blame, it can't happen again.

He nodded, and she hoped it was in response to her attempt at telepathy. She watched him for a few more seconds, and Weiss pounded at the door.

"Hey! Syd, c'mon, I know you're in there, and moping around listening to chick music is not gonna convince me otherwise."

She had to smile, and crossed in front of Vaughn to open the door slightly. "Sugar?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

His face was entirely without apology, and in a flash she knew that Eric Weiss was no fool. "I'm making cookies?"

"For the office tomorrow," she prompted. He may have been intuitive, but he still had a lot to learn about alibis.

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding quickly. "Hey, Vaughn, funny seeing you here."

Sydney didn't look back over her shoulder; she didn't need to. She'd felt his presence the moment he had come up behind her.

"Weiss," Vaughn acknowledged frostily. "I just had to confirm some details from the debrief."

"Yeah." Weiss nodded in understanding. "Admire your dedication to the job, man. See you there tomorrow."

If she didn't know better, she would swear that there was a hint of promised violence in the air between the two men. This was like watching some bizarre parody of her life play itself out.

"Good night," Vaughn snapped, and looked over at Sydney one last time. She couldn't hold his eyes for long and looked away, fighting the humiliating burn of potential tears. He brushed her shoulder on the way out, and she bit her lip against the remembered heat.

Weiss's expression was equal parts expectation and sorrow, both of which she deliberately ignored.

"So you need sugar."

"And probably a cookie recipe."


End file.
